Who the **** is GZS?
Grumpy Zach Smith (Rumtetum Atomic Research Facility, Utah, October 1954. Monday. No, actually I think it was a Tuesday, probably around teatime. Or a Friday. Actually, thinking about it, it might have been a Wednesday as I remember the photo was taken by Bob Oppenheimer, and Bob only worked at the lab on Wednesdays as he developed a morbid fear of days of the week that didn't begin with a 'W'. Consequently, with the Cold War heating up, we needed him to work overtime, so we had special calendars produced which featured the days Wonday, Wuesday, Whursday, Widay, Watterday and Wunday. However, the new calendar wasn't without its faults. One time Bob came in on a Wunday instead of a Wonday, which we all thought was hilarious. He didn't. After that he turned his attention to bombs instead of the free energy device he'd been working on, and hey-presto - I am become the destroyer of worlds. Oh well, you can't please everyone.)
Fuck. That’s what I mean’t by ****. God damned rogue asterisks – one little expletive and it’s * this and * that all over the place.*
There’s no doubt that the 21st century is a pretty odd place to be. It’s hard to imagine, but once upon a time people actually spent their time NOT having mind-numbingly tedious questions force-fed to them by the TV, radio, newspapers and ‘the meeja’ in general. Questions like:
“Will United win the cup?”
“Who’s gonna win the latest series of Britain’s Got Talent?”
“Will whatshername find out about whatishame’s affair in Deadenders/ Bore-o-nation Street/ Shitterdale Farm/ Follyoakes/ etc?”
the appallingly patronising
“Should I consolidate all my debts into one easy to manage loan?”
and the brain-meltingly puerile order to
“en-ter your reg num-ber now at WE BUY ANY CAR (DOT COM)” all delivered via the medium of shit-hop music, and accompanied by the vocal equivalent of being mugged at knife-point, by hoodies, at night, in a pay and display carpark in Bradford.
Who knows, perhaps the blog fairy will wave her magic wand and I’ll wake up one day to find that the world’s entire supply of twats and morons have been turned into marzipan and used as a decorative coating on the surface of the moon. Or, not.
GZS
* Grumpy Zach Smith, you can **** off as far as we’re concerned. It’s our job, and we’re proud of it. We don’t care that everyone can easily guess what rude words we’re covering up. Besides, you’re only reading this because of the useful way we can be used to direct people to footnotes. You ****sucker.
Love,
The Asterisks.
